Changing Tides
by sakurawish
Summary: The twelfth doctor is female and she must set out to find new companions. She meets Sherlock and John and invites them into the TARDIS
1. Chapter 1

It was time. The yellow light engulfed the body of the raggedy man. His hands lit up like Christmas lights and were soon followed by his eyebrow-less face. He was sad and alone. Clara, his only companion, had vanished without a trace. The Doctor could still feel her presence. He knew she wasn't dead. But maybe that was just the feeling of her saving him dozens and dozens of times in his past regenerations. Maybe he didn't want her to be dead. But he'd exhausted all of his resources, even his body, trying to find a way to bring her back. In the end, the mad man couldn't save the impossible girl. It was impossible. He didn't want to give up, but his time was up.

"I'm sorry" were the last words lightly whispered along with his tears. He stumbled to the floor before the light took over his entire being. He would've fallen flat on his new face but fortunately, his hand managed to catch his fall. However, it wasn't exactly his hand. His masculine hand became a delicate, slender hand. It had caught the Doctor by surprise. In all of his regenerations, there was never a time when he saw such a hand on him. Then he gently ran his small new hand down the side of his face. It was soft and squishy unlike his previously sculpted face. Then he ran his hand through his hair. He expected soft, short locks but instead felt a humongous clump of course, curly hair. He pulled the long hair in front of him to inspect the color. Of course it wasn't ginger, he thought disappointed again. Instead, it was a rich chocolate brown entangled with hints of copper. He came to the realization that he had become a girl.

"I'm a girl," the Doctor said testing out her new voice. "Ahem, I'm a girl," she said more assertively. She searched around for a mirror but caught her eye on one of the reflections inside the TARDIS. Her blue eyes widened at the sight of a beautiful girl. She was short, only about 5'4" and somewhat curvy, but not too curvy. She had a mountain of messy curly hair that seemed to fall every which way. She had a young, pale face with bright rosy cheeks. She also had much thicker eyebrows than her previous regeneration. She scrutinized her new look.

"I think a haircut is in order. And maybe a new wardrobe," she muttered looking down at the baggy outfit. Then she looked at the sad, dirty bowtie around her neck. That bowtie had seen just as much as he'd seen. It was time for the bowtie to go as well, but not before she gave it one last use. She wrapped the scruffy bowtie around a bushel of hair and made it into a side ponytail. This will do for now, she thought.

The Doctor then went to the control panel of the TARDIS and began pressing buttons and playing with knobs. She looked like a mad woman as lights flashed around her and the TARDIS began to jolt back and forth. Suddenly, it stopped. The TARDIS began to materialize in present day London, just off Baker Street. She stepped outside of the blue box and into a bustling rainy street. Her curly locks tightened at the moisture of the light misty rain. She noticed a small boutique across the street and made a break for it before the light shower quickly turned into a downpour. The shopkeeper was an elderly woman who looked surprised at the sight of the young woman dressed in baggy men's clothes.

"I think I need some new clothes," the Doctor said with a slight laugh whilst trying to lighten the look of concern upon the woman. The Doctor didn't take long trying to find the perfect outfit for herself. She must wear pants. Dresses or skirts were too distracting for time traveling; at least for her anyway. She didn't mind if her companions wore them though. So she picked out a dark pair of jeans and a plain white blouse. She looked down at her feet which were beginning to ache from walking around in such big shoes, so she picked out a pair of bright red Converse sneakers. She smiled happily at her choice of wardrobe.

The doctor then pulled out some psychic paper and showed it to the clerk. This way, she didn't have to worry about currency. She walked out with her old clothes in bags and happily sporting her new outfit. Before she threw her old clothes into the TARDIS, she took out the sonic screwdriver from within her old pockets and tried stuffing it in her new pockets but to no avail.

"Bloody hell, what is this?!" she cried in confusion. The pockets were fake! They were simple seams sewn on the sides to look like pockets. The Doctor frowned at this fault in her new outfit. "I guess this is why women must carry purses. Ugh, I can't carry a purse all the time!" she muttered to herself. Then she stuffed the screwdriver in her bosom and hastily tossed her old clothes into the TARDIS.

She walked around Baker Street for about half an hour before getting extremely bored and lonely. To fill that boredom and loneliness, she decided to stop by Speedy's Café whose smell of delicious food was quite tantalizing.

As soon as she entered the café, she heard a couple arguing over dead bodies.

"John, the head in the freezer couldn't have just sprouted legs and moved on its own! As a doctor, you should know that it's anatomically impossible!" A tall man with dark curly hair argued with his partner.

"I swear I did not dispose of anything in the freezer. I did, however, remove the eyeballs from the microwave. It's disgusting Sherlock. I have no idea how Mrs. Hudson puts up with this!" A short blond haired fellow retorted.

The Doctor listened closely to their conversation. These people cannot be human, she thought. They must be some sort of alien. Who else would be so casual in talking about human remains?

Without ordering anything, she swiftly followed the pair to their flat which was very close by. As soon as they shut the door to their flat, she whipped out her sonic screwdriver and began to work on the locked door. It clicked open within seconds. Using extreme caution, she slowly opened the door. She didn't see much because a brown sack was pulled over her head and she was thrown to the ground. She felt her hands being tied behind her back with zip ties. And she heard her sonic screwdriver roll across the wooden floor.

"What do you suppose this is?" asked John. He examined the screwdriver like a piece of jewelry. "I've never seen anything like it. I think it's a toy."

"IT'S NOT A TOY!" the Doctor cried through the sack over her head.

"Alright, who are you and what are you doing here?" asked Sherlock who promptly pulled the sack over her head.

The Doctor's blue eyes jumped around the flat. Maybe they aren't aliens after all, she thought. "I'm the Doctor. I'm sorry, I thought you were aliens."

"Aliens?" cried John incredulously.

Sherlock smirked. "You look a little old to be playing pretend."

"I know. I'm 992 and I'm not playing," the Doctor said through pursed lips.


	2. Chapter 2

"So what's an 'alien' doing on Earth anyway? I don't believe Earth is that advanced in terms of technology," Sherlock said sarcastically. He snatched the sonic screwdriver from John's hands. He then, started to twirl it around in his own leather laden hands.

"Don't press anything!" the Doctor warned. His leathery black fingers caressed the entire surface of the screwdriver and clearly taunted the Doctor's warning.

His eyes widened in surprise and then narrowed in suspicion. "This isn't a toy," he concluded. "I don't know what it is."

"It's my sonic screwdriver. Let me go and you'll see what it can do," the Doctor said.

John looked at Sherlock. He nodded and John proceeded to untie the Doctor.

"Okay, now what sort of magic trick will you perform for us?" Sherlock asked perplexed.

The Doctor thought for a bit. "Whatever you want. It'll be my apology for stalking you and your date."

"I'm not his-"John began only to be silenced by Sherlock's hand.

"I want you to find Moriarty's whereabouts," Sherlock said in a deadpan voice.

"Certainly," the Doctor said definitively. She pointed the screwdriver at the television screen.

It turned on, began to blink through static and white noise, then showed Moriarty's face. He was talking to his assistant/assassin, Sebastian Moran. They sat in a very expensive restaurant whilst drinking tea and eating biscuits. They weren't talking about crimes however. They were talking about what sort of furnishings their new flat should have. Moriarty seemed upset that Sebastian didn't want to have an annoying talking fish in their kitchen.

Sherlock tapped the television screen and looked all around the small box for unusual wires.

"This isn't a trick. Cross my hearts and hope to regenerate," the Doctor smiled. She found Sherlock's confusion very funny.

"Then how are you doing this?!" Sherlock questioned.

The Doctor's nose crinkled. She was beginning to get fed up with this. "I pity you for being very impossibly dense. You obviously had no imagination as a child." Then the Doctor grabbed Sherlock's hand who instinctually grabbed John's hand and they rushed out the door.

"Where are we going?" John yelled as they dodged passersby.

"To the TARDIS! You must know that not everything in this universe can be explained through human logic. There are somethings in this world that just can't be _humanly_ possible. It's time to think inside the box!" the Doctor yelled with a grin gleaming across her face. She opened the door to the TARDIS which looked like any ordinary police box and watched the faces of the two men explode with astonishment. "It's bigger on the inside," she said matter of factly.

The inside was a gross display of fantasy and sci-fi. A large area was bathed in blue light with stairs to different corridors. In the center was a beautiful large control panel that glowed a bright neon bluish green color. There were knobs and buttons and switches and levers and a variety of other mechanisms attached to the center panel.

The doctor pulled them inside and pressed at a bunch of buttons in no particular order. It didn't even seem like she knew what she was doing which frightened her new passengers. It was hard to wrap their minds around this new discovery and now this mad woman was taking them someplace-some_when_ else. The blue box began to shake violently and made a strange wOOOoooOOOoooOOO noise.

"What's going on?" Sherlock demanded. He and John were steadying themselves on a railing.

"We're going back in time. How does 1887 sound?" the Doctor asked nicely. Sherlock and John exchanged looks of confusion to fright. Sherlock was one who did not frighten easily. But this particular instance was an unexplainable one. And the unexplainable was what truly scares Sherlock.


	3. Chapter 3

The TARDIS seemed to crash land in the middle of an alley. The Doctor slowly peeked through the door and then with a huge wave of her dainty hands, flung the door open for her new companions to see. John was as jumpy as a kitten while Sherlock pretended to take it all in stride. His composure broke when a bucket of garbage (among other things) nearly landed atop their heads.

"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?" Sherlock demanded. He rubbed his temples. He still couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"It's London. Back in the day," the Doctor said seriously. "Come on, I'll show you around."

She grabbed Sherlock's hand and Sherlock instinctively grabbed John's. The dark alleyway twisted and turned into a damp street lined with horse drawn carriages and people in outdated suits and dresses.

"If you don't mind me asking, where are we going?" John asked. The girl stopped and caused a chain reaction of bumps within the trio.

"There!" she exclaimed with a grin. She pointed to a dimly lit window in the second story of a decrepit flat. The light flickered profusely. The silhouette of a man at his desk was clearly seen. He crumpled up a piece of paper and tossed it somewhere out of their shadowy view.

"Doctor, where are we going?" John reiterated. He squinted at the window again. The silhouette was shaking his head in frustration.

"We're going to the home of a writer. Which one, I don't know. He's obviously frustrated with what he's writing." Sherlock answered.

"Shall we go see who he is?" the Doctor asked even though she knew full well who he was.

"I suppose it couldn't hurt," Sherlock responded wearily.

The three of them headed towards the door of the writer. Sherlock was the first to knock on the ornate brass ring. They heard feet begin to race down the stairs, then a large clash. Out of worry, John opened the door.

"Excuse us sir, so sorry but are you okay?" John wondered anxiously. The man had fallen down the steep wooden stairs, knocked over a vase of flowers, and landed flat on his face. The man got up and slicked his handlebar mustache with his own blood. He had broken his nose, but it didn't really seem to worry him too much.

"A broad and two gentlemen, I'm sorry but this isn't a brothel. I'm expecting company any moment now. If you'll please excuse yourselves from my property, that would be wonderful," the man shooed the three away with a few flicks of his wrists.

"Oh but we're your company," the Doctor said unphased by his blatant disregard for women. She grabbed his wrists and looked him straight in the eye. "SIR Arthur Conan Doyle. You are going to write a series of short stories that will have Great Britain on their knees practically begging for more. Please don't give up. Perhaps the inspiration will come in a slightly unexpected manner." She winked on the word 'unexpected'. Arthur was perplexed for a second or two before finally coming to his senses.

"I don't thin-" but before he could finish his sentence, there was another rapping at the door. The man lunged for the door and opened it immediately. He wiped the sweat and blood on his hands before the guest could see them. This time an elderly gentleman was at his door. He was short and plump and looked almost like an unjolly Santa Claus dressed for a funeral.

He scuffed at the sight of the amount of people in the writer's flat. "Arthur, I thought you were upstairs writing a story for the paper, not partying. It's due at midnight and it is indeed midnight at this time." The man clacked his pocket watch shut.

"I-It's almost done. It's j-just got s-some minor plot p-p-points to tweak," the young Arthur Conan Doyle stammered nervously. "I'll go grab the rough draft." He hurried upstairs, tripping twice on the steep oak steps.

"Well, this is awkward. I don't like awkward," the Doctor stared into the man's eyes. The man, in turn, examined the room around him.

"Filthy," he muttered. He slid his finger across a half rotten table. He rubbed the dust and mold between his finger and thumb.

"This place could certainly use a vacuum cleaner. But I've seen worse. Particularly mine and John's own flat," Sherlock came to the man's defense. John agreed by nodding his head. The man raised an eyebrow. "What in blazes is a vacuum cleaner?" he demanded. But before he could get an answer, Arthur bounded down the stairs with a few crumpled up pieces of paper with spotty ink stains littering the pages.

"Sorry for the wait, Mr. Williams, sir. Here's the story. It's not much but it may have to do for now. I'm having a bit of writer's block, you see," Arthur explained through his shortness of breath. Mr. Williams hastily snatched the pages and began to skim through them. His face went from impatient to just plain furious by simply reading over the first page. "I CAN'T PUBLISH THIS! MR. DOYLE, YOU HAD BETTER GIVE ME A FINE STORY BY THE END OF THE WEEK OR YOU'RE DROPPED FROM THE PAPER, YOU HEAR ME?"

"All of London can hear you," John said under his breath. The Doctor nudged his side a little and Sherlock remained statuesque alongside Arthur. Unlike Sherlock's stance, Arthur was simply paralyzed by fear instead of standing up for his story. Mr. Williams stomped out of the flat in a fit of rage and slammed the door shut behind him. In the process, several babies and children were woken up by the racket.

With the door shut, and the expected company gone, Arthur slumped to his knees.


	4. Chapter 4

"I need a sign! Something that will tell me everything will be okay!" he moaned pitifully.

The Doctor put her hands on her hips. "Fear not, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. These two are your signs!" She grabbed Sherlock and John by the collars and pulled them down to her level.

"What?" John asked incredulously.

"You two will help Sir Arthur Conan Doyle write his stories. Just, um, tell him some of your adventures! I know you must have some really good stories to tell." The Doctor pulled a chair from a desk and sat backwards on it facing the group. Her eager face beamed at the trio.

"I'm sorry. I still don't know who any of you are!" Arthur exclaimed.

"My name is Sherlock Holmes and this is my colleague, Dr. John Watson. This woman here simply calls herself the Doctor," Sherlock introduced the group. "My colleague and I are detectives."

Arthur shook his head at the idea. "I can't write a story about detectives. People nowadays are more interested in fairy tales. Why, look at that Lewis Carroll fellow. Twenty years ago he wrote a story about a young girl and her adventures in 'Wonderland,'" he quoted the word in the air, "And it's still going strong! Adventures in fantasy realms. Now that's what people want to read. Not some murder mystery detective story. Now PLEASE let me return to my work. I haven't the time to be talking to anyone. I may not even have the time to sleep within the week!" Arthur fretted. He sat at the foot of the stairs and began to sob.

John excused himself from the man's decrepit flat. He motioned for Sherlock to do the same. The Doctor hadn't noticed their absence and stood at the man's feet with heavy eyes. She curled her lips into a funny frown and sighed deeply. Arthur looked up at her disappointed face. "I'm sorry for being so impolite. I-I-I just…" he began.

The Doctor just sighed again, twirled her left foot like a ballerina and walked out the door.

The Doctor found her companions outside the TARDIS. "We didn't know how to get back in. It appeared to be locked." Sherlock said with his arms crossed. The Doctor raised an eyebrow. To her, it seemed like they were awaiting their next move.

"The poor fellow. If only there was a way to inspire him somehow." John commented.

"THAT'S IT!" the Doctor exclaimed. "That's a brilliant plan John! Simply brilliant!" she reeled.

"What? What did I say?" John asked as he watched the Doctor jump up and down like a giddy schoolgirl.

"We WILL inspire him! You and Sherlock can SHOW him the life of a detective. We can stage a murder and you two can help solve the case. And it'll all happen right in this neighborhood!" Just as the Doctor finished her sentence, a deafening scream was heard from around the alleyway. Crowds of people gathered outside their buildings to see what the racket was. The Doctor and her companions hurried over among the group of bystanders.

William, the old guy who had harassed Arthur was found slashed open upon the stoop of a young couple. The young husband shielded his wife's eyes from the gruesome sight. An X had been slashed across the man's chest, leaving two deep crimson cuts.

"Oh my God. We just saw this man moments ago!" John cried out. Sherlock knelt next to the body. He pulled out a pocket sized magnifying glass from his pocket and began examining it. Out of the corner of her eye, the Doctor saw Arthur round the corner of the alleyway and nudged Sherlock in the foot. He looked over and saw the writer looking their way. Arthur's face was a mix of horror, and intrigue.

"Two diagonal cuts clear across the torso," Sherlock began. "Made with a crisp blade. No jagged edges on the skin or clothing," He looked down the alley. "The killer would have to use a considerable amount of force to push through this man's heavy chest area. An average woman or man with a small build would have difficulties pulling such a feat. The only possible conclusion is that the suspect has a muscular build and it knowledgable with blades. He may have spent time doing manual labor to build such strength. Look here," he pointed at the wounds. "These wounds are the same deepness through and through. If done by an ordinary man, it would have been shallow, deep, then shallow once more."

The crowd gasped, a few eyes darted around the street. Arthur looked astonished at the intelligence of this strange dark haired man.


End file.
